


Beauty

by sstwinz



Category: Stage Beauty (2004)
Genre: Angst, Gen, One Shot, Sad, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 02:48:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14535033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sstwinz/pseuds/sstwinz
Summary: Ned Kynaston's world has turned upside down seemingly overnight. All he wants is to be beautiful again, but he is no longer sure of what beauty is.Originally written in 2017!





	Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> I like writing about people who are beaten up so I was inspired to write this after watching the movie last year.
> 
> All I ever write is angst why.

Ned Kynaston’s hands were shaking. He pressed them to his head in hopes of making it all stop. The shaking, the bruises that seemed to worsen every day, the noises from the street. Laughs mostly, occasionally a mockery of one of his most famous lines.

It had all happened so fast. It felt like only yesterday he had first heard of “Margaret”’s acting, and now men were entirely banned from women’s roles. The course of his entire life had shifted in a matter of days. Years of training and day after day of arduous rehearsals suddenly rendered useless. Allowed only as a street attraction.

Worse than the king’s decree, even, was the public’s reaction. He’d expected his fans to fight for him, as he was prepared to fight for himself despite his injuries. But, instead, they laughed. They stood outside of his door and laughed.

That, not the injuries, was what was causing Ned’s shaking hands. Because he couldn’t understand _why_ they were so quick to turn on him and laugh. The only explanation he’d come up with after days of hearing them outside was that they’d always felt this way. They’d always viewed him and others like him as a joke. Who was to say when he was finished performing and they’d cheered, there hadn’t always been laughter mixed in? Over the last few days, he’d convinced himself of it.

In a state of stress, Ned’s hand went to the side of his face and brushed it lightly, a delicate, calming gesture. He sat upright and shoved the traitorous hand down. He’d found himself constantly making womanly gestures. He’d never realized how much he’d allowed the persona to infiltrate his life. He was a freak, half-man, half-woman.

_Is there no pity sitting in the clouds,_

_That sees into the bottom of my grief?_

_Juliet_ , Romeo and Juliet. Lines had been coming to him more frequently as well. He didn’t see why. He would never play those parts again. He tried to shove the quote away, but it wouldn’t move as easily as the hand.

If only he felt more of a man, or more of a woman for that matter, he’d be prepared to die. He’d heard stories of self-inflicted deaths. Ophelia even did so in Hamlet. He wanted to be killed, but he couldn’t bring himself to die. In the most pathetic phrasing, he didn’t know _how_ to die. If he was more of a man, he’d know how a man died. If he was more of a woman, he’d know how a woman died. Instead, he was stuck in-between, unsure and helpless. All he knew was he wanted it to be beautiful, but he wasn’t sure what beauty was anymore.

Ned slammed his hands into his head again as though it could knock some sense into his brain. Sitting up was starting to cause his sore muscles and cracked ribs to burn. He rolled onto his side, the position he’d been in for most of the past few days. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the outside snickers.

One thing was sure. He had to act as a woman again. Because without that, he'd lost the only beautiful thing he ever had.


End file.
